WhereTheRoadIsDeep: On Mountains

Tonight was going to be a post I mostly wrote last week on the status of my start-up but instead I really want to do something different. If you’ll indulge me a paragraph or two, I want to develop a climbing analogy that I’ve been thinking quite a lot about. There’s a line from a Khalil Gibran passage On Friendship that goes like this:

That which you love most in your friend may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber, is clearer from the plain.

It’s this concept of distance and perspective that is important here, rather than the bit about friendship. From a distance, you can indeed see the entirety of a mountain if no pesky clouds move in to hide the summit as often happens to the most alluring peaks. As you move closer, the scale of the mountain takes over and the peak disappears entirely behind the mass of rock and earth that support it. What could fit between your thumb and forefinger a day ago now looms over and around you as if it goes on, and up, forever. As you begin to climb, you can only trust that the summit is there somewhere waiting for you but you’ll not get a chance to see it again for some time. So you just climb. Your lungs burn as the air thins, but you climb on. Your legs tire, your back develops knots and your hips bruises from the weight of the pack you carry. But you climb on, propelled by the memory of and anticipation for the summit. Your anticipation betrays you though. As you trudge up the steepest, meanest sections, the ones that spray loose scree tumbling from underfoot, you become sure that when you crest the slope, the image you’ve been dreaming of will be there. It isn’t. You’ve surely underestimated the immensity of the mountain though and your first view of the peak still lay days, miles, and meters away. The anticipation builds, as do the aches, bruises, and lactic acid you carry.

On the Nth day, you crest the steep section and this time she’s there. To me, this is the singular best moment in a climb. You see your goal for the first time since you first set out. It’s magnificent. You spin around and admire for an instant how far you’ve come - it’s the first time you get a good sense of it. A landmark you remember clearly from your approach drive or hike, now barely visible, only a speck on a landscape that feels like you need two sets of eyes to see properly. This feeling of accomplishment quickly fades as you turn back to eye up once again the task ahead which will undoubtedly be more difficult than anything you’ve yet faced. This brief moment, however, has refueled your tank. The sight of your goal combined with the rear view of your progress dulls the aches and fllls the air you breathe with something better than oxygen, adrenaline. This is what will carry you forward when you no longer feel able to carry yourself. This and the support of your climbing party, whose presence yields you more energy than any food, drink, or drug could. So you climb on.

We're currently in, if I’m not mistaken, the steep section before the summit view in the climb that is the launch of MaraMoja (the name of our start-up - it means “instantly” or “right away” in Swahili). I think see a summit - it’s beautiful. Let’s hope its not a false peak.

More on MaraMoja in an upcoming post (honestly, it won't take two months this time).